


Other - Crycest

by InvisibleLee



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Chaoticmonki - Freeform, Cryaotic - Freeform, M/M, Other, Other - Freeform, chaotic money, chaoticonki, crycest - Freeform, felix kjellberg - Freeform, i cant spell, i meant monkey wow, pewdiepie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisibleLee/pseuds/InvisibleLee
Summary: Why can't I just admit it?Why can't I just accept it?Why won't he just go away?





	1. Why?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out my story! It's a bit of a work in progress, of ccourse, and more of an experiment, but I hope you like it! If you have any comments, feel free to leave some ^~^

~~~~ Why can't I just admit it? 

Why can't I just accept it?

Why won't he just  _ go away _ ?

These thoughts circle my mind, racing around, fighting for dominance in my conscience. They try to influence me, try to dictate what I do. Admission. Acceptance. Banishment. Three solutions, none of which I can face without a heavy heart.

I can't admit it. If I admit it, I'd be going against everything I know, everything I am, everything I want to be. I would be losing it all. I would lose anything that I already had. I would lose anything I might gain. I would be criticized and persecuted, targeted even more than I already am. I would end up forcing myself into positions that others would disagree with. They would push me away, and I would be left alone. I just can't do it.

I can't accept it either. If I accept this idiotic notion, I would become rash, relaxed around Other. If I am relaxed, I am prone to act on it. I am prone to being overthrown by Other, something that I could never deal with afterwards. I would ruin whatever I had, and it'd have the same end that admitting it would. It would be horrific, because it would be sudden, and so much worse than just admitting it. I would be hated, and I would never be forgiven, forever shunned, as I would deserve it.

Yet, I can't make it disappear. I can't banish the thought, no matter how hard I try. It is difficult, harder than anything I've ever tried to forget. The warmth in it is something I am used to, something I even  _ crave _ at times. It is the thread of sanity that I hold on to. Even if I could forget, I would want to remember. This leads me back to the inner debate over admittance and acceptance. I can't do anything about it.

Other is annoying. He calls himself me, but he can't be. He thinks differently. He acts differently. He  _ feels _ differently. I said this before, but I can’t accept, admit to, or banish him. He is forever here, in my head, trying to control me and my thoughts. I can keep him at bay easily now, but it was hard before. I had a few close calls. Too many, really, to even count. He tries to take over sometimes, suddenly in the night, when he catches me most off guard. But he never has control long. I panic too much, and I push him out with an amount of force that scares even me.

Today, I get home around eleven, after having a long, extended dinner with a friend's friend. She was trying to set me up, I already knew, but it was futile. Other, who named himself that, was far too present for me to enjoy it. The girl had been cute and kind, a good combination, and very into video games. But every time I tried to do anything, Other was able to pull the words away and twist them into something meaningless. She left with only a small smile and a cheesy rose from me. 

I set my keys on the table, wandering into the front room before deciding to go to my bedroom and get some early sleep. I still feel Other here, and I am itching to escape his watchful eyes. I am unsure of whom he is or what he is, but he is always here, now more so than ever. I am never alone. Never away from him, not entirely. There is only when he is here and when he is barely here. There is no alone time with me. I am always with Other. He always has been here, since Day One, a month or so ago.

I sit down heavily on my bed, the furnishing messy, and its blankets strewn about carelessly. I put my face in my hands with a sigh, running my fingers through my hair absently, pushing my glasses up a few times before they can slip off. When I look up, though, at my mirror, who I see is not me.

Other is, well,  _ other _ . He looks  _ cool _ . The way I wish I was, in a way, but also so far from it that it is amazing that I can imagine him. That's what I tried telling myself, anyway; that I've imagined Other. That he isn't real. But he is. He is as real as I am, because without him, there would be no me, and without me, there would be no him. 

At least, that's what  _ he _ says.

I stare in the mirror, taking in Other's appearance of the day. His hair is unruly as ever, his clothes just as rumpled as they'd been when I left a few hours ago. His eyes shine with mischief, a look that had been growing brighter since Day One. I wonder when I noticed that detail. Then I wonder what it means.

Sighing, I think back to what I called Day One; the day Other came to be.


	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cry meets someone he never expected - himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened? I wasn't sure where to go with this actually, and I decided last-minute to do something kinda weird.  
> I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to comment on it, if you like! ^^

I sit at a café near my apartment. It is early, nearly seven in the morning. It is Saturday. Few people are in the small hang-out, as many are sleeping in. No work today. Just a personal matter.

My laptop sits on the table in front of me. I sip at a coffee that I loaded down with sugar and cream, and I tap the table top with my fingertips. The screen is bright, lighting up my face in the dark corner where I reside. It is a spot that is nearly reserved for me. I wait. He should be calling soon. We will discuss our next co-op. We'd already done quite a few, and both of our fans were begging for more. And, as anyone would know, we are both slaves to our fans, so we set up a call time. My heart speeds up a little as I think about the call, and I stop myself short. Since when did I get this excited about recording with someone else? Since when have I been this excited for much, recently? I've recorded with him before. It wouldn't be any different.

Right?

In any case, Skype alerts me to a call. It's him. I self-consciously reach up and run my fingers through my hair, and before I can stop, I find myself adjusting my glasses on the bridge of my nose. I sigh in frustration, and then click to accept.

His face fills my screen, and for a moment, I am caught off guard by the image. I don't know why, exactly, but I am frozen in place, deaf to all around me, blind to all but him. His beard is coming in slightly, the light brown scruff showing on face. His bright blue eyes are staring into mine. My heart hammers in my chest loudly, and I think the only reason he doesn’t hear it is because he’s not physically here. He smiles, and I feel myself returning the gesture with a grin of my own. When he speaks though, the momentary spell is broken.

"Hey, Cry," PewDiePie says with a smile. "What's up?" I blink.  _ What the hell just happened? _ But I just smile at him, not letting my feeling awkwardness pervade the conversation.

"Oh, not much," I reply to the Swede. "Just working out." He laughs, and I marvel at the sound. I shake myself mentally. _Snap_ _out of it_ , I lecture my conscience. I don't know what is going on, exactly, but I don't intend to let it go on any further.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "And I'm sure that the cup in your hand isn't from the Starbucks that you totally  _ aren't _ at, right?"

"Right," I say. He rolls his eyes at me with the wide smile that has yet to leave his face. We speak like this for a while, him teasing me, me falling hard into a state that I can't even explain. I fail to stop it. I don't know what he is doing to me, but something has changed, I can tell. I haven't any idea what it is, but it can't be that good, with the feeling I'm getting.

Finally, we decide to do a short video later today. A good idea, too, since I'm not sure how long it will be before the requests for a co-op with Felix spill into my PM box. 

"Alright," Felix says quietly. "Are we all set?" I nod enthusiastically. "Well, then I guess I'll go." He looks uncomfortable, and I immediately feel guilty. Did I say something wrong, that may have insulted him in some way? My eyes search his frame and face for any clues as to my mistake. He seems to notice my attention, and he smiles, though it looks a little forced. I shake my head; that's probably my imagination.

"Okay, then," I say, feigning nonchalance. "Bye."

"Bye, Cry," he says, and then the screen goes dark. I shut the lid to my laptop reluctantly. I still don't know what happened, but it seems to be fading. I give myself a mental shake. No sense in staying on the topic, so I just go the counter, buy a muffin, and leave before I can debate it any more. 

I'm home within ten minutes, after having stopped at a gas station. I open the door quickly, swinging it in. My apartment is roomy, though not large by any means. A kitchen. A living room. A bedroom and bath. Everything I need to survive, at least. I head for the kitchen, setting down a bag containing a gallon of milk and some Ramen. Not much, but it would have me set until dinner. I'd likely just order a pizza when that came around, or else I'd just go pick up some McDonald's or something equally junky. After I put away the items in their designated spots, I walk into the front room, sitting down heavily on the couch. My fingers search for the remote, quick to find it. I flip through the channels absently, finally stopping on an episode of some cheesy show - Supernatural, I think. Maybe twenty minutes into the episode, I fall unconscious.

 

_ My dream is hazy. I wake up in a field. Green grass and a blue sky surround me. A breeze flows across my bare arms. My clothing has changed; I am now wearing what appear to be scrubs; a short sleeve blue shirt and blue pants, the color you find in a hospital. My hair is unruly. I am covered in dirt and mud and a red liquid that I am afraid to investigate. I hold a stick in my hand. I don't know what I am doing here or what happened. I barely even know who I am. All I know is the name Cry. Nothing else. _

_ But then something happens. Someone is standing in front of me. All I see is its back, but it’s enough to know that it is a male. Something about him is familiar. I don't know who it is, exactly, that he reminds me of, but the feeling is unmistakable. I just stand, trying to make sense out of this, but I am failing. _

_ "Hello, Cry," a voice says. I look at the person, but he is still facing away, so I think that maybe the voice came from somewhere else. But when I look, there is only the man and me. The voice did come from him, then. What is strangest, though, is that the voice is familiar, the same way the man’s profile is.  _

_ “Yes, that would be reasonable,” the man says. Yet he still does not turn. Slowly, cautiously, I take a step forward. My legs feel unstable, as if the ground is shaking. I take a deep breath, and with it, another small step. I do this again and again, until I am close enough to him to reach out and touch him. Just as I go to move to the side to look at him, he disappears. I freeze. My breathing shallows.  _ Where did he go? _ I don’t know. My mind races, thoughts running around in my brain like headless chickens. Suddenly, there is a hand on my shoulder. I yelp, spinning around to face the person who had startled me. However, all I see before it goes black is a pair of unfamiliar, wild green eyes.  _

 

I wake with a jump, my heart thudding with adrenaline. My limbs are heavy and my brain is clouded with remaining unconsciousness. I check the watch on my right wrist. It is noon. I slept for a whole five hours, it seems. Not unlike myself, of course, on a Saturday. I slowly stand, stretching to warm up my dormant muscles. Taking slow shuffling steps, I head into the kitchen. I pull out the cup of Ramen that I’d bought earlier, running some hot water into it and then take it with me back to the couch. I set it down on the coffee table, and I pick up the remote, flipping through the channels. I put on an episode of Friends. When two minutes or so pass, I begin to eat my noodles. It is just another Saturday at casa de Cry. 

For almost the entire day, I sit on the couch. I did end up going out with some friends around seven, and I returned at nine-thirty, only to sit down in the living room once more. It isn’t until eleven, the time for my stream with Russ, that I am actually excited for something. I hardly remember what we’re going to play, but I can’t wait for it nonetheless. Four hours, we play around in the games, screwing up much more than necessary. It is fun, and I don’t really want it to end, even once we are done. Usually, I am quite happy to end it, more tired than anything, but right now, I am wide awake. Unfortunately, none of my other friends are feeling the same, so we end it per the usual time.  When they’ve disconnected, I end the stream, and I look around the living room. I throw away the pizza box on the table. I shut off the television. My eyes search for something more to do, but I don’t know if I am up for playing a game alone right now, so I shuffle to my bedroom instead.

My bedroom is small, not very large by any means. It is big enough to house a twin bed, a desk, a dresser, and a closet, which is really all I need. Attached is the master bathroom, just as quaint and simple as the bedroom. A shower, a toilet, and a sink. Once again, all I really need. On the outside of the closet door is a mirror, one I can look at as I lay in bed, which is often how I determine how long it’ll take to get ready in the mornings. I quickly get undressed and redressed into some night clothes. I pull back the covers of my bed and lay down, placing my glasses on the bedside table next to me. Within minutes, I realize something rather odd and disconcerting.

My reflection in the mirror is  _ sitting up _ .

I jolt into a sitting position, staring at my reflection. Did I really see that? I quickly push my glasses into place. No, there’s no way. Besides, all I see is me, staring with a confused expression.  _ I must be insane _ . I lay down again, closing my eyes, but all I can see is the sitting reflection in the mirror, while I myself was lying down. I try to focus on something, try to think of anything but that creepy image, but I can’t shake it. I sigh, and then give in. My eyes open, but when I look at the mirror, I have to hold in a scream.

_ I am sitting up, a smirk on my lips.  _

My mind is blank and my heartbeat speeds up. What is going on? This should barely even be possible – no, it  _ can’t _ be possible; there’s no “barely” about it! And not only is my reflection sitting up, but it looks different from me. My brown hair –  _ his _ brown hair – is laced with blond highlights. A smirk plays on my –  _ his _ – lips. He wears my night clothes, but the buttons on the shirt are undone, showing the pale skin beneath. And then there are his eyes. Eyes that are so familiar that I can barely comprehend where I know them from.

My dream. 

_ He was in my dream _ , with those wild green eyes staring at me from my own mirror.

I sit upright slowly, staring at him, watching to see if he disappears the way he definitely did last time. I notice vaguely that he doesn’t have on my glasses, but, in all honesty, he is so far from  _ me _ that I shouldn’t even be surprised. The only movement from him, though, is the rolling of his eyes at, presumably, my hesitation. When I am on my knees, though, he is still there, completely and totally  _ there _ , as if he had always lurked within the depths of my mirror.  _ As if he belonged there.  _  I quickly shake the thought away, hoping to keep from panicking. However, a strange sense of calm has washed over me. I look at him with curiosity now, rather than slight fear. This is a dream. Yes, a strange rendition of my previous dream, but fairly more detailed, more vivid and real. I must have been so exhausted that I passed out before I even realized it. Yes, that would make perfect sense.

With this comforting thought, I analyze this  _ other me _ . He sits with his legs crossed beneath him, a way of sitting that I rarely use. I carefully look at his clothing, which I had noticed earlier to be slightly rumpled. In fact, the way he wears it is rather – hmmm –  _ seductive _ . It’s slightly unnerving, also, how he simply stares at me, as if waiting for something in particular. At this moment, I look at his eyes, wild and quite unlike my own. They also have this odd look about them, something, I don’t know,  _ mischievous _ . It’s an odd sight. I am resting on my knees now, perfectly calm, as if I have dealt with this kind of thing before. Until, that is, he speaks.

“Well?’ he says, and I have to focus to keep from flinching. He uses my voice – but he can’t possibly be me, can he? I mean, sure, he looks an awful lot like me, but it is also painfully obvious that he is miles away from  _ me _ . Even the way he speaks is off, more of a curl to his words, as if there is some hidden motive behind what he is saying. Mysterious. And, strangely enough, very alluring.

What? No, what am I doing? It’s not alluring; it’s creepy! Way beyond creepy! What am I thinking? I watch him silently, waiting for more, afraid to be committed enough to speak myself. But there isn’t anything to be afraid of, I remind myself. It’s only a dream.

Right?

In any case, I refrain from speaking. For a few moments, it is utterly silent. Then, he sighs, as if he has come to an acceptance of something. Like my unwillingness to cooperate. He slowly slides off of the bed, standing on the carpet. He raises his eyebrows at me, clearly waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. At least, I think.

I steel myself; once again, there is no reason for any fear. Dreams can’t hurt you, after all. They aren’t real. While they may resemble some problem or another in your life, they are not completely viable. So I clear my throat slowly and take a breath.

“Um,” I murmur. “Hello?” I am hesitant and very quiet. But this response seems to please him, if only momentarily, for he flashes a wide grin at me. 

“Hel-lo!” he replies enthusiastically, ignoring my response to that – I actually did flinch that time; he was louder than I expected – and winking at me. A slight shiver runs down my spine at the motion, but I control my thoughts this time – it is still only a dream. I will not let this affect me.

“Um, yeah,” I say, a little uncertain, but gaining my confidence. I have to brace myself to ask my question, but I have quite the feeling that he wants me to ask it. “So, who are you, exactly?” At this he smiles that huge grin, letting out a loud laugh that I have never heard from myself.

“Ah, yes!” he says. “Finally, you ask! I was wondering if you would ever come around to that.” He spreads his arms out wide, lifting his chin a little, looking at me triumphantly, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning. “I,” he says dramatically, “am Other. I am you, Cry, in nearly every way, believe it or not. I may look different, yes, and act different, but believe me,  _ I am you _ .” These words send another shiver through, though this time ominous and slightly frightening. But he continues, either oblivious to my reaction or simply choosing to ignore it. “I know all of your wishes, Cry, and I am the embodiment of your deepest and darkest one of all. Although,” he adds, “I have seen some pretty insane things in your mind, Cry. I mean, honestly – murder? Really, Cry? Just – no, never mind.” He shakes his head, but he picks up his speech quickly.  
  


"In any case. I am you. I am who you wish you were. Deny it all you want, dearest Cry, but it's the truth. You know that, deep inside your heart." I just shake my head. I no longer want to listen. I don't want to see him, this person with highlighted hair and rumpled clothes and seductive smile. This being who says he is me but so obviously not. I look away, but I feel his wild green eyes, watching me.

"So you don't believe?" he says, which makes me look at him. He is smirking again, an expression I rarely wear. It surprises me how natural it looks on him. I would have thought it would affect his features differently, negatively, even. Instead, it only makes him look even more provocative. I close my eyes for a moment to banish the thought harshly.

"Of course not," I hear myself say, even though I hadn't wanted to speak at all. "How can you expect me to?" When I open my eyes again, the smirk has vanished, a thoughtful smile replacing it. 

"I suppose you  _ are _ right about that," he concedes. "Perhaps you'll believe when I say that I know that your friend, that girl that you hang around so much - Selena? - is planning a birthday for her niece, who happens to be a fan of yours, and wants you there as her gift." My vision swims. My mind races. 

_ He's right. _

He really is. Selena had told me the exact same thing yesterday. But I mentally kick myself not but a moment later; of course he knows that! I'm dreaming, and he would know whatever I know, in a dream. I'm trying to psyche myself out or something. I don't quite understand it, but it has to be the truth.

It just has to.

"No," I say. I tell him about the theory of how he knows. But he just scoffs. I look up in surprise.

"Me?" he says mockingly. "A dream? A figment of your  _ imagination? _ " He pauses to laugh again. "Oh, no, Cry. It isn't that simple. No, no, no." I clench my jaw stubbornly. I narrow my eyes. He only smiles. "Really, now," he says. "There's no need for you to look at me like that, dearest Cry." I only answer by pulling off my glasses. He blinks. I set them on the table again. He cocks his head to the side. I lie down and cover up. I close my eyes. For the moment, it is beautifully and blissfully silent. 

"Really, Cry? You're so damn stubborn." The voice is quiet, resigned, but so close to me that I actually scramble out of my cocoon of blankets. I stare at my bed; I  _ swear _ that his voice was right in my ear! I know it. But no one else is on the covers. It was only me. I sigh with a little relief, before I realize that he might still be here.

"What-" I start, but as I look at the mirror, I realize that I am staring at myself,  _ me _ , not Other. I sigh.

What the hell is going on here?


End file.
